


Take You Down With Me

by AEpixie7



Series: Take You Down With Me [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, At this level it's art you monkey, Aziraphale is a secret dom, Crowley is a cinnamon roll, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen!Aziraphale, M/M, Sex while falling from grace, Smut, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 10:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: My little drabble on what I think Aziraphale would be like if he were falling. I don't ever want that to happen, Az is my sweet innocent little bean. But if he DID...





	Take You Down With Me

Aziraphale sat quietly reading, the light of the setting sun bouncing off of windows and into the bookshop, making it seem brighter than it was. He didn't mind, though. The golden light warmed his skin, and he shifted deeper in his seat, sighing contentedly as he reached for his mug of tea, long since cold. He flicked his wrist absently, instantly warming the beverage, and winced at its temperature, though his eyes never moved from the page that currently enraptured his thoughts. He really should have noticed that first faint whiff of sulfur.

The second time, as well. When the setting sun ricocheted off one of the dusty glass cases in the shop, and for the first time in over six millennia... he had winced at its brightness. He had unfurled his wings, using the feathers to shield his eyes from that most annoying distraction.

The third sign, however. That, he could not ignore. A single feather loosed from his wing and drifted vaguely downward, before finally falling so gently upon the page. He had moved his thumb to brush it away... when he noticed its color. Smokey grey against the white parchment. He remembered with sudden urgency that he did indeed have a heartbeat, because it jumped up inside his ribcage. He followed suit, hauling himself from the chair, his book falling haphazardly on the floor, the grey feather lost beneath it. He stared at the book, and only then did he notice the faintest scent of sulfur, and the way his eyes felt dry and irritated. His hands began to tremble, and he wiped his mouth nervously as he approached a mirror behind the sales counter. He froze where he stood, his entire body beginning to shake. " _No,_ " he whispered, unbelieving. He stared for only a moment longer at his reflection, then began tearing apart the shop in search of candles. " _No no no no no, please no,_ " he stuttered as he stepped into the circle, the first tears escaping his stinging eyes. He closed them and turned his face to the heavens, waiting for that beautiful grace to shower down upon him...

"Please," he whispered, his arms outstretched on either side of him. " _Please,_ " he choked, his voice cracking this time. No, he hadn't been in contact with Above since the botched apocalypse, but surely...

" _Aziraphale,_ " The Metatron spoke, and Aziraphale's eyes shot open, instantly blinded by the light from Above. He turned away from it, yelping at the sudden pain. The light had never hurt him before. _This can't be happening, this can't be true!_

He couldn't think of anything to say. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He wanted to yell, scream. _Why? What have I done? I swear I am your servant, now and always! Whatever it is I have done, I repent! Please don't do this!_ But all he could manage to do was wipe the tears from his cheeks with a horribly shaking hand and choke out a sob, his knees hitting the floor of the bookshop. The Metatron... its voice had sounded... Indignant. Pitiless, even.

"Why?" he whimpered, his voice so weak that a human probably wouldn't have even heard it. There was a moment of agonizing silence before the Metatron spoke, its voice an icy cold breath.

"We have ignored your transgressions for years Aziraphale."

"Transgressions? What transgre..."

"Silence!"

Aziraphale huddled in on himself, his smokey grey wings spread out on either side of him. The tears flowed freely now.

Another agonizing silence.

"You thought we hadn't noticed. Little sins, sprinkled here and there throughout the years. Unrepented. Unforgiven. You thought we had ignored your part in the foiling of what was to be our greatest victory!"

"No, no, NO! I swear, I only wanted to save humanity! The war would have cost them everything! Everything they've built, everything they are! How could He allow something so precious to be..."

"YOU DARE QUESTION HIS INTENTIONS, BOY?!" the Metatron thundered, and Aziraphale choked on a sob as he recoiled from its forcefulness. "No, I only meant..."

"We know what you meant to do! You didn't want to save humanity. You wanted to save yourself. Your life, your worldly possessions. Your... _demon._ "

Aziraphale froze. He stared sightlessly at the floorboards of his bookshop. _Crowley._ He tried to think of a retort, some defense of his actions that would make them excusable. No, _forgivable._ But the truth was sinking down his spine, chilling him to the core. He shivered once against it. _They're right._

"Please, I repent," he whispered, wincing as he blinked up at the light. "Please, forgive me! I swear, I'll do anything!"

"It is too late, Aziraphale. You have harbored all of the cardinal vices within your heart, and have not repented until threatened with retribution. That is not noble, or graceful, Aziraphale. It is unbecoming of an angel."

Aziraphale was about to argue. Sure he had occasionally recognized his own tendency toward a few of the vices. Gluttony. Envy. Pride. But never to a damnable extent. And certainly not some of the more egregious sins. Lust in particular. That was Crowley's forté, not his. Of course he had considered the logistics of sins of the flesh, if only out of sheer curiosity toward the nature of humans. But only ever in his thoughts. If thoughts were now sinful, the Gates of Heaven would grow rusty from disuse.

He was about to argue... But he would never say another word in the glow of heavenly light. He felt his halo shatter. The absence of its weight took his breath straight from him. Such a comforting pressure, for six thousand years... just gone. It left an ache that completely paralyzed him. The column of light Above went dark immediately, leaving his bookshop empty. More empty than it had ever felt. He wrapped his arms around himself, gently rocking in disbelief. He buried his face in his hands, a gasp tearing down his throat.

He wasn't sure how he had ended up at Crowley's flat. Honestly, he tried to wrack his brain and remember, but all he could remember was that feeling of his halo breaking, along with his heart, and the next thing he knew he was blinking through the raindrops at the soft glow coming from Crowley's window. _Thank God... no. Thank... someone... you're home. I need you now._

He hid his wings as he miracled his way inside the building. He wasn't completely fallen yet. He wished he was. He wished it had been quick. But no. The cruelest punishment of all was to feel himself falling. Slowly. Losing his grip on the heavenly graces. Losing everything about himself that was warm and bright.

He took the stairs. The handrail became more necessary the farther he climbed. His body was weak, and quickly losing its will to fight. _Just a bit further._

He thought about knocking, but he didnt want Crowley to see his eyes. He would know immediately. Aziraphale had caught the reflection of his eyes in the metal of the elevator. His pretty grey-blue eyes had darkened to an ominous black-blue. Like the abyss at the bottom of an ocean trench. Endless. And terrifying. Hence... why he had taken the stairs.

He let himself in, not bothering to say anything. Crowley was lounging lazily on his plush leather sofa, his yelp of surprise muffled by the game show playing loudly from the television. Aziraphale hurried to the kitchen, seeking out that one cabinet, and finding the first bottle within reach. He didn't care what it was, but downed half the bottle. He steadied himself on the countertop, then took another large swig. No amount of alcohol could numb what was happening.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley's voice was uncharacteristically soft. Gentle, even. He was worried. Aziraphale grimaced against the thought. He would have to turn and face him. Sooner or later.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said meekly, turning and leaning back against the counter. He sighed shakily, keeping his eyes cast down to the floor, so Crowley couldn't see them. He didn't know why he was prolonging the inevitable. He just couldn't find the strength.

"Angel... you just downed half a bottle of gin," Crowley said, reaching down and taking the bottle carefully from Aziraphale's trembling hand. "What the hell..."

Aziraphale didn't know he had wanted to do it until he had already closed the distance between him and Crowley, his lips crashing into the demon's. Crowley whimpered in surprise, his entire body rigid, until Aziraphale's hand wrapped around his neck, entangling in the hair at the base of his neck, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. He enjoyed the angel's kiss for only a moment longer before shoving him back into the counter. He tried to sound angry when he spoke, but his voice cracked from the sudden rush of sensation he had just experienced.

"Aziraphale!" he barked, his own extremities beginning to tremble. He had enjoyed the kiss, of course, more than he'd admit right now. He had been wanting to feel Aziraphale's lips for centuries. But he had imagined it quite differently in his head. This was just so sudden and... unlike Aziraphale.

All his anger melted away when the angel finally dragged his eyes up to meet Crowley's.

"No," Crowley whispered, his heart jumping up into his throat. Aziraphale's pretty eyes-that icy blue stare he had hated to adore... it was almost black. Tears clung to his eyelashes and spilled down his cheeks. Crowley stepped quickly forward, his hand under the angel's chin, forcing him not to look away.

"You're..."

"Yes."

Crowley blinked in disbelief. He turned suddenly, snatching his keys off the table by the door. "Come on. We're going to the shop. You have to talk to them, you have to beg forgiveness. You can't..."

Aziraphale had approached without his notice, and his hands had closed around Crowley's and the keys to the Bentley. Crowley tried to ignore how cold Aziraphale's hands were.

"It's too late, my dear. I tried. It has already begun."

Crowley stood silently panicking, unable to move and unsure what he could even do. Sure he had fantasized about what Aziraphale would be like as a demon, how great of a team they'd make. But he couldn't imagine his friend as anything other than the pure, perfect angel he'd always been.

"Let me see your wings," Crowley whispered. Aziraphale's face twisted into a grimace as more tears stained his pale cheeks. He started shaking his head _no_ and tried to back away from Crowley. It wasn't as if revealing his wings would prove anything he didn't already know. His eyes were proof enough. But Aziraphale hadn't seen his wings since he hid them before entering the flat. They would be darker now, and he didn't think he could bear the sight. There was a finality in losing one's white wings that he just wasn't prepared for yet.

Crowley had tossed the Bentley keys back onto the table and caught his friend's wrist, his fingers closing tightly and keeping Aziraphale from backing away any further. Crowley stepped closer, his free hand coming to rest on the side of Aziraphale's face, his thumb absently wiping the tears from his cheek. " _Please angel._ "

Aziraphale took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly, shakily. His wings materialized, and Crowley's breath hitched. The angel's wings were a stormy grey now, and they hung dejectedly low at his sides, the longest feathers bending as they dragged the ground.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, another shaky breath rasping against his throat as his hand came to rest on top of Crowley's.

"If... if I am going to fall..." Crowley winced hearing the words out loud. "I... want it to be... with you..." Aziraphale said, stepping closer until his face was inches from Crowley's. Crowley could feel his pulse in his fingertips, even more so as Aziraphale closed his hand around Crowley's where it rested on the side of his face. He moved Crowley's hand to his lips, and placed a torturously soft kiss on his middle and index fingertips. Crowley breathed out nervously, as his eyes flickered down to Aziraphale's pink lips.

He forced out a breath, yanking his hand away from his friend and turning away, pacing the living room of his flat as he anxiously ran his hand through his hair. "Not like this, angel, not like this..." he muttered, to no one in particular, as he wore a tread into his Persian rug.

"Crowley, don't..."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" Crowley yelled, turning back to face his friend, tears welling up in his serpentine eyes. "Dammit, angel. I've wanted you since... _fuck_ since as long as I can remember and..." his voice seemed to abandon him, and he angrily placed his hands on his hips, indignant at his own lack of articulation.

Aziraphale approached slowly, frowning as he nodded. He had always had a hunch about Crowley's affections. For someone so... robust in persuing his desires, Crowley had never once so much as drunkenly mumbled any of it. He had placed Aziraphale's virtue above everything, for centuries. That was what broke his heart the most right now.

"I know, Crowley. I've always sort of known." His hands cautiously reached for Crowley's shoulders as he approached, and he pushed his leather jacket down his arms. Crowley didn't stop him, though he refused to meet Aziraphale's newly darkened eyes. "But if you've wanted an angel..." his hands returned to Crowley's chest after he had successfully relieved the demon of his jacket. His hands fanned out over Crowley's chest, and he relished the response of his own body at the sound of Crowley's almost silent whimper when his fingertips brushed his nipples through his shirt.

"Now is your last chance."

Crowley's eyes finally pulled reluctantly up to meet Aziraphale's, and his bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. "I didn't want _an_ angel. I wanted this one."

Aziraphale placed an angelically light kiss on Crowley's bottom lip, sighing as he wrapped one hand around Crowley's lower back and the other behind his neck. He kissed the demon's cheek, before moving his lips back to whisper in his ear. " _Please_ my dear. Don't make me do this alone."

Crowley stood statue still in the angel's arms, warm breath at his ear. He could feel his resolve crumbling, as his hands slithered up between them, pulling Aziraphale's bowtie loose, and working the first few buttons of his pale blue button-up. He pushed the shirt and that cursed coat slightly open, and used his forked tongue to lick from the angel's collarbone, slowly up his neck to his earlobe, which he took very gingerly between his teeth. The sound that Aziraphale made completely shattered whatever resolve Crowley had left.

He shoved Aziraphale's coat roughly from his shoulders, willing it away from his wings, and ripped his shirt open, bending to lick another line from the edge of the angel's trousers, up to his chest. Aziraphale threw his head back with a gasp, Crowley's tongue flicking beneath his chin as his hands desperately reached for the demon, fingers entangling in deep red locks. Crowley straightened, his hands clawing at Aziraphale's hips as he pressed himself against the angel, his face buried in his neck. A very obvious effort was being made. But he had to be certain.

"Are you sure, angel?" his lips trembled against the soft skin of Aziraphale's neck. He had already restrained his natural urges, and it was starting to pain him how careful he was being. But it was Aziraphale.

The angel sighed, his hand still absently massaging Crowley's scalp. His hand roughly grasped a handful of Crowley's hair, and he yanked his head back so he could look into those lustful yellow eyes.

"Crowley... stop being so gentle."

Crowley blessed loudly, wrapping his hands beneath Aziraphale's rump and lifting him, spinning and dumping him on the white leather couch, his wings splayed out on either side of him. Crowley practically pounced, hands greedy as they explored the angel's exposed chest and sides. His forked tongue found skin once more, and _oh_ the delicious sounds coming from the angel...

He willed away the button-up and sloppy bowtie, his hips grinding against Aziraphale as he wrapped his arms around his angel, fingers finding soft feathers and massaging them where they met his back. Aziraphale practically cried as he arched his back, pressing his stomach and newly, _ridiculously_ hard erection against Crowley's. He used his strong wings to push himself up, into a sitting position, yanking Crowley's leg so the demon was straddling him. He hooked a finger into the v neck of Crowley's black cotton t-shirt, then thought better of it, and miracled the damn thing away entirely. Crowley shivered, but he wasn't entirely sure it was the sudden rush of air on his skin.

"Wings out, demon," Aziraphale barked huskily, watching Crowley twitch and tremble as he slid his hands up his thighs. He had never called him _demon_ before, but Crowley couldn't help but enjoy, to a sickening degree, being ordered around like that. His hands fell on top of Aziraphale's, stopping them on their trajectory toward his belt buckle. His chest rose and fell quickly as he panted, and he hesitated, keeping his wings hidden.

Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed Crowley's jawline, whispering against his skin. "I want to do to you what you just did to me."

Crowley shivered violently again, this time unfurling his luscious obsidian wings and stretching them to their full wingspan. Aziraphale allowed Crowley to steady himself, both hands on the angel's shoulders, as he slid his hands up Crowley's ribs, to his back, where he worked his fingers with tantalizing pressure into the feathers.

He didn't know where all this confidence had come from, especially in _completely_ uncharted territory for him. But somehow he knew exactly how to manipulate Crowley until he was a trembling, pleading mess. Instead of simply massaging the demon's wings, as he had done, Aziraphale decided to combine sensations. He leaned forward and flicked his tongue lightly against Crowley's nipple just as his hands found purchase in that sweet spot of his wings. Crowley's hands tightened painfully on Aziraphale's shoulders, his hips grinding hard down into Aziraphale's lap. The sweetest part was that beautiful, _desperate_ moan that escaped Crowley's lips.

" _Jesus Christ angel!_ " he panted into the angel's hair, his hips moving steadily against him. "I have never been this turned on _in my life_ how the hell are you so good at this?!" he growled, and Aziraphale couldn't help but giggle. Crowley actually sounded a bit threatened. Intimidated, even.

"Just because I've never had sex doesn't mean I don't know _how,_ " he grinned mischievously, snapping his fingers and removing the remaining clothes from both of them. Crowley whimpered, overwhelmed by the sudden skin-to-skin contact, before he leaned back to admire the part of Aziraphale no one had ever seen. " _Fuck_ that's pretty..." Crowley said absently, his hand reaching down and beginning to stroke him slowly. Aziraphale's head fell back onto the couch, his eyes closing as a long, low groan ripped through him, his hands clawing roughly down Crowley's thighs. Crowley smiled to himself, loving every minute of making his angel squirm and buck into his hand. He backed away, crawling to the floor between Aziraphale's legs.

"Crowley, no I don't think..." he started to protest, but then that _tongue..._

" _Fuuuuck,_ " Aziraphale whined, and Crowley hummed appreciatively of the curse, the vibration in his throat sending Aziraphale reeling with an entirely new level of desire. His hips bucked shallowly, both his hands fisting into the couch cushions. _Remind me again why we've never done this before?_

Crowley continued teasing, licking, occasionally nibbling at his thighs. He held the angels hips still as he forced Aziraphale to the back of his throat, earning an outright scream.

"Crowley, you _ass,_ I... _fuck_ I... need... _please..._ "

Crowley was hovering over him instantly, Aziraphale's hands desperately finding his thighs once more. He pressed an urgent kiss to the angel's lips, and lowered himself, _so slowly,_ onto him. He held Aziraphale against him, their stomachs and sweating chests grazing lightly here, friction there. Crowley was making some extremely lewd noises as he began to move, his hands clutching tightly to Aziraphale's shoulder and in his blonde hair.

"You know, I love it when you curse," Crowley managed to gasp, and he could hear a breathless giggle from Aziraphale.

"Well, you're the only one who's managed to make me do it."

"Mmmmm yesssss. Stroke my ego while you're inside me. That's jussssst perfect," Crowley teased, though the catch of his breath after his statement betrayed him. He was far less composed than he was letting on. He was coming entirely _undone._ As usual, Aziraphale could see straight through him.

Aziraphale reclined back into the couch, his hand pushing against Crowley's chest gently, so he was leaning slightly back. So he could watch. His hand drifted down to wrap around Crowley's pulsing cock, which immediately oozed with pre cum.

" _Shit. Fuck!_ " Crowley hissed, stopping his movements entirely and grasping Aziraphale's wrist, hard. He winced, his eyes slammed tightly shut, as he bit his bottom lip to keep from screaming. He gasped once his body had relaxed slightly.

"Did I hurt you?" Aziraphale asked, concerned, though he hoped not. Seeing Crowley shaking like that had been intoxicating. He wanted to make him do it again.

"No. Very much no. I just... you almost forced me over the edge there. Just need to... ssssslow it down," he whispered, his yellow slitted eyes staring daggers into Aziraphale, as he guided the angel's hand along his shaft, showing him how he needed it. Crowley's eyes rolled back in his head as he began to slowly move again, Aziraphale lightly stroking him. " _Yesssss_ " he whined, his legs beginning to tremble. Aziraphale restrained himself as long as he could, but he wasn't very practiced at keeping his desires in check just yet. They were ripping through his every vein, until his heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears.

He growled in frustration, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Crowley, their bodies so hot and so close now. He was thankful for the reaction from Crowley, who began bouncing furiously on top of him, sweat dripping from his brow onto Aziraphale's chest. Aziraphale could feel himself on the precipice, of what he assumed would be his first orgasm. It was actually much more terrifying than he had anticipated. It felt like he was losing control of his body. Like something was burning inside him. Radiating from where his body met Crowley's.

Something else began to burn, too. His wings. He whimpered in fear, and felt Crowley shudder. He looked up to see Crowley's eyes staring, unblinking, just past him. At his wings. Aziraphale felt tears welling in his eyes, and he whimpered quietly. "It's happening isn't it."

Crowley caught his chin as he went to look at his wings, and forced him to look at him. "Don't. Don't look at them. Stay here. Right here, with me. Don't think about that. Just _thisssss._ Just us. I'm right here."

Aziraphale pulled Crowley to him for an impassioned kiss, his tongue dancing with Crowley's strange one. Crowley pulled away from the kiss, his forehead resting against his angel's as he moved, his eyelids fluttering.

"Az... Aziraphale... I..." his words melted into a groan, and Aziraphale felt that fire between his legs once more, right there, so close. The sounds Crowley was making, _Satan_ they were perfect. Fuck being righteous if sin felt this...

Crowley's hands gripped desperately for Aziraphale's wings, and that was all the angel could take. He felt the fire explode within him. Within Crowley. He screamed against Crowley's chest, his hands also snaking up Crowley's spine and scratching roughly down the skin between his wings. " _Fuck angel!_ " Crowley cried, the pitch of his voice high as he bucked hard, his wings beating involuntarily as Aziraphale felt the warm, fluid _beauty_ of Crowley's release on his stomach.

Both of them were gasping, occasionally mixing with contented groans and sighs. Crowley kissed the angel's hair, and he could feel him trembling as he clung desperately to his demon. He didn't seem to want to let go, and Crowley was okay with that. He knew why. Aziraphale had fallen. And Crowley had been the final nail in the coffin. He was both flattered and heartbroken by that.

"It's alright, angel," he whispered. He'd have to stop calling him that. His heart ached at the thought. "It's over," he huffed as he looked down, at Aziraphale's now pitch black wings draped over his white leather sofa.

Aziraphale stayed with his arms wrapped around him for a few moments longer. He kissed Crowley's chest, and willed away the mess they'd made. He pushed gently on Crowley's sides, and the demon crawled cautiously from his lover, offering a hand to help him stand. Aziraphale took it, his eyes staring down at the ground, his mind lost somewhere off in the distance. He cleared his throat, beating his new wings twice and shaking out the feathers, his hand tousling his hair.

"Well... how bad is it?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley stepped back slightly, to admire. His wings were not the only thing that had changed. The golden hue of his hair had faded, leaving it an almost white-blonde. His face looked sharper, somehow, although Crowley was fairly certain his body had not changed. It must've been the ashy blonde hair, and the way it clashed with his now almost black eyes. That was a truly cruel change, his eyes. Nearly black, but with just enough blue to remind him of the color they had once been. He looked... terrifying. Or he would, were Crowley not hopelessly attracted to him.

Crowley stepped forward, the backs of his knuckles grazing Aziraphale's cheek. He looked up at Crowley, the pain and anxiety gone from his eyes. Now he just seemed to hang on whatever words were about to utter from Crowley's lips. "You look... magnificent," he whispered, lacing all the sincerity he could muster before kissing Aziraphale's lips tenderly. He could feel a slow grin forming on Aziraphale's lips as he kissed him back. "Yes well. Since when can I trust your taste."

Crowley outright laughed, and sank back down onto the couch as he watched Aziraphale approaching the full size mirror that stood near the fireplace. He stood, examining his new form. Turning slightly, he began fussing with the black feathers until they laid straight and even. He stared at them for quite a while, his expression unreadable.

"Will you change your name?" Crowley blurted. It wasn't entirely necessary to change one's name once they'd fallen. Hell, Crowley had changed his twice. But usually an angel couldn't bear to hear their God given name once they weren't graced with His presence anymore.

"I don't know. I've always liked 'Balthazar.'"

Crowley snorted. "One of the Wise Men?"

Aziraphale smiled at his own reflection, and turned, his wings disappearing as he willed his trousers, shirt, and bowtie, all in their original colors, back on. He straightened his bowtie and smiled, the action making Crowley shiver. The once warm and innocent smile of his friend was now... so devious.

Crowley stood, immaterializing his own wings and willing his clothes back on. "Can I..." he started, his hands shoving into his pockets as he fidgeted nervously. "Still call you 'angel?'"

Aziraphale reached for his tartan coat, draped over the back of one of Crowley's plush armchairs, and stopped, his hand smoothing the coat over his arm. He seemed to think over the question, long enough that Crowley was about to apologize when he finally spoke. He turned to Crowley, another haunting smile on his lips. "Of course, my dear."

Crowley beamed, before his eyes fell to the coat draped on Aziraphale's arm. "Oh christ, you're not getting rid of that hideous thing?"

Aziraphale's grin widened wickedly as he tossed the coat over his shoulders. "Hell no."

He approached the table next to the door and snatched up the Bentley's keys, twirling them around his index finger in a manner that was _way_ too seductive.

"Now my dear, perhaps you'd like to show me how to, um, _start some trouble._ I'll drive."


End file.
